


Paperback Writer

by Dillian



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1960s, And the Things That Get in the Way, F/M, Finding a Way to Get Past It, Gossip Columnist-Loki, Loki's Bitter Memories, M/M, Making a Future With Each Other, Novelist-Tony, Romance, Setting -- Los Angeles/Hollywood, Tony's Sad Past, coming together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-09-24 03:23:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9697463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dillian/pseuds/Dillian
Summary: Classic romance-novel plot, two people coming together despite all the things that should push them apart.  Happy ending at the end of the whole thing, but before that, all kinds of bad stuff has to happen.  Writing summaries has never been my strongest skill.This one has major character death in it.  It takes place in the past, but if that kind of thing bothers you, please avoid.  There are no actual villains in this story, but there are times when various characters might not act as admirably as you'd like them to.  I call that being human, but if it bothers you, please avoid for that reason too.  Also, the story gets somewhatmetanow and then, layers on layers, characters AU-ized, writing their own character-stories, etcetera.  If I'm putting you off, I understand.  I'm really writing this more for myself, because it's the kind of story I like to read....Anyone left?  Hope you enjoy the story.





	1. Autobio for Parade Magazine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “When Captain America throws his mighty shield,  
> All those who chose to oppose his shield must yield.  
> If he’s led to a fight and a duel is due,  
> Then the red and the white and the blue’ll come through.  
> When Captain America throws his mighty shield.”  
> \-- Theme Song, _Captain America_ , 1966

_**The Avengers** _ **,** _**Iron Man** _ **,** _**Thor** _ **, and** _**Captain America** _ **, and all situations and characters thereof, belong strictly and solely to Marvel Comics.  This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.**

“Paperback writer, paperback writer.  
Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book?  
It took me years to write, will you take a look?  
It's based on a novel by a man named Lear,  
And I need a job,  
So I want to be a paperback writer,  
Paperback writer.

It's a thousand pages, give or take a few.  
I'll be writing more in a week or two.  
I could make it longer if you like the style.  
I can change it 'round,  
And I want to be a paperback writer,  
Paperback writer.”  
\-- The Beatles, “Paperback Writer”

~~You know what hasn’t changed in thirty years?  Gay bars.  I can tell you that from personal experience.  Everybody talks about the liberalization of this, and the freedom of that; if you listen to people, the 60’s are just the freest, and most liberal time in the entire world.  Ha.  Liberalization?  Freedom?  I don’t know where those people are talking about, you go to a gay bar, it sure doesn’t look very “liberal”, or very “free.”  Go into one of those places?  Here’s what they’re like:  Depressing little hole-in-the-wall, just like always, depressing smell of broken drains and urinal cakes, and wishy-washy drinks served in glasses that look like they were cleaned with a urinal cake, and a whole lot of cops taking up more than half the space at the bar, and it’s always a gamble even talking to anyone, for fear you might get one of them.~~

~~So, why do we still go to the damn places?  You know the reason.  Sex.~~

This isn’t what Pepper wants.  Better start over.

This is an autobiography.  Because, mirable dictu, apparently I have achieved “success”?  Ha, me, Anthony Stark, you really can’t keep a good man down, apparently (not that I was ever a particularly _good_ man).   ~~You want a good man?  Steve was a good man…~~  Jesus, this is hard.

Okay, let’s start again:  I’ve never been a non-fiction writer.  I tried writing a biography one time before, that was actually how I came to write _Captain America_. True story… -- Okay, this part?  Good anecdote, _Parade_ readers are going to love it, but it doesn’t belong here.

1967 has been a very good year for Tony Stark so far.  Coming out from behind the pseudonym, you’d better believe it’s been a damn good year, now if I can just sustain it...

Promised Pepper an autobio.  Because apparently, people liked the author-photo on the back of _Avengers_.  Apparently, I’m “photogenic,” how about them apples?   ~~Know who was photogenic?~~ ~~ _I’m not going to start blathering about Steve_~~ ~~...~~ Where was I?  That’s right. the autobio:  

Picture-deal,  2.5 mil:  Thank you Pepper Potts, the best agent in the world.  And the deal’s with Metro, who fired me.  She said she didn’t plan it that way, which only makes it better.  Good old Iron-Man, he’s going to make me famous, and that’s on top of Captain America, who’s already made me rich.  Now I just need to clinch the deal, write the part with the Civil War in it, but no hurry, that part’ll come too.  It’ll come when it’s supposed to come, they’ll give me an extension, they always said they would if I needed one.  And the autobio’s more important right now, anyway.   _Parade_ said they want it by Friday.

Okay, autobio:  I was born in Pasadena, California, in 19-nobody-needs-to-know-when.  I was a springtime baby, May.  If I were a girl, I could put in all kinds of nice verbiage about spring flowers, and the scent of the fragrant orange blossoms, etcetera.  Only I’m not of course, and nobody writes that crap about men.  And especially not me.  That _Exposé_ article’s still out there, somewhere.  I don’t ...think _Parade_ would include it?  They mostly do puff-pieces, don’t they?  But better safe than sorry, always, when you’re a homosexual.  You ever seen anyone miss the opportunity to put down a fairy?

This is going to be pretty boring.  Which is what I love about fiction, is you can make it interesting, but of course, it’s the truth, _Parade_ wants.  The boring truth.  Pop was rich.  Even during the Depression, he was rich.  San Marino, and New York, and Martha’s Vineyard.  And blah-blah-blah, Pop’s big old Pierce Arrow, and the chauffeur, and Jarvis, and…  Jesus, how many Presidents have I met?  Hoover, and Roosevelt, that was when I was young, and there was the time President Truman visited me in the hospital, after I came back from Japan.  No way I’m telling that story.  And Mama, whose family had the place in Province.  Stark family wine, and Stark family lavendar…  There I am coming back to flowers again, aren’t I?

 ~~First novel:  It was sci-fi, too bad I can’t mention it, but of course there’s no way.  Lousy, overwritten piece of crap, and there’s the homosexual element too, which is what really kills it.  Fortunately, there’s no way they’ll ever find it.  How many copies of that thing ever even sold?  Like, three, maybe?  At the most?~~  Back to the story, _Parade_ ’s story:  In 1946, someone at Metro saw something I’d written and so they offered me this job as a screenwriter, and I took it.  Then after that, things just kept on getting better and better.

~~They didn’t really, of course.  Someday I have to write an honest autobio, or, you know, maybe I can find a ghost-writer who does non-fiction?  But sometimes it feels like somebody needs to tell how things really happened, everything about what really happened, like, about Steve, and how we met, and how he stood by me after Metro fired me, and all of that.  Feels like I’m lying by not telling that stuff.  This whole autobio?  Lies, from start to finish, or half-truths anyway, which are just as bad.  But nobody wants to know the star of~~ ~~_Captain America_ ~~ ~~was a fairy, do they?  Or that the creator of~~ ~~_Iron-Man_ ~~ ~~is one either, for that matter.~~

...Okay, where was I?  1946, a very good year.  Metro hired me, and I met Steve, and we became _friends_.   ~~And there was the house that we bought together, this house:  Used to belong to Norma Desmond, there are people that would say that makes it bad luck, after what happened to her, and that screenwriter friend she had for a while.  Sometimes you have to wonder, but you know, no one in their right mind believes in luck.  And Steve~~ ~~ _almost_~~ ~~lived here with me, he came really close, did everything but.  Three nights a week, that was usual, then for a while, while he was married to Peggy Carter, he was managing five, or six, some weeks.  And then Buck Barnes showed up…~~  Buck’s got to go in this story, I guess.

~~I was writing the first~~ ~~_Captain America_ ~~ ~~, when he showed up…  No, I’m leaving out stuff.  Let’s try again.~~

First of all, Steve and I were friends. We’re talking about,  say, 1956, here?  Or ‘57, maybe?  It was after ~~Metro fired me~~ I left Metro, but Steve was still a big star, he was like the biggest they had.  And, they wanted this bio, and he put my name up to do it, and Metro said fine.  

And I was going to do it under a pseudonym, which, by the way, is how Stan Lee got his start.  And it _was_ supposed to be a bio, only I couldn’t get that to work.  I was going over-schedule, etcetera, and then they hired someone else.  But I was still working on the project, that’s when I got the idea to add in the sci-fi stuff, is after Metro dropped me from the project.  And then right in the middle of that, is when Buck Barnes shows up, who served in the same unit with Steve during the War, and now he’s a TV producer.

~~Do I need to write that he’s~~ ~~_the_ ~~ ~~Bucky, from the~~ ~~_Cap_ ~~ ~~books?  Jesus god, I hope not, I hope even~~ ~~_Parade_ ~~ ~~readers are smart enough to figure that out for themselves.  The _Cap_ books are based on Steve’s real story, I’ve always told everybody that.  And some of the characters are real people, and I didn’t change all the names, so aren’t they all going to put two and two together?  Or should I spell it out?  Eh, to hell with it, I’ll get Pep to read this over, she’ll tell me if it needs fixing.~~

...Where was I?  Buck Barnes shows up, turns out he’s a TV producer now.  And I wrote him into the _Cap_ books, because I knew he and Steve were friends ~~(and because I may or may not have been a little bit…  Never mind.)~~.  ...He and Steve were friends, then after Simon and Schuster bought _Cap_ 1, that’s when he came to me, said he wanted to make a TV show out of it.

Should I mention what a comedown it was at the time, for Steve to agree to do television?  Times have changed, nowadays everybody does TV, but back then.  My god, how things have changed, and it’s not even ten years ago, but back then it was just the second-stringers that did TV, and Steve was at the height of his career.  But he walked away from it all, for the little screen ~~(I think he did it for me)~~.

Fall, 1957, premiere of _Captain America_ (which I think is going to run until the Judgment Day):  Steve as Cap, of course, and right from the start, we had Sam Wilson as Falcon, which was…  I want to say, he was the first black man to have that big a role in a major program?  Since _Amos and Andy_ , anyway? -- Note to self:  Research it.  Or I wonder if _Parade_ would do it for me? -- Good thing about writing fiction:  No research.  You just make up whatever the hell you want, just any old crazy stuff, as long as it makes the story go. -- ~~I still think they should have made Falcon the new Cap.  Bucky’s irrevocably compromised, it’s in the books.  Yeah,~~ ~~ _Parade_~~ ~~really wants me writing that stuff, don’t they?  Note to self:  Tony,~~ ~~ _focus_~~ ~~.  And go back and edit the hell out of this thing, or make Pep do it if she’s feeling generous, before you let~~ ~~ _Parade_~~ ~~get anywhere near it.~~

Okay, so now I’m up to about 1960:  Show’s a hit, Steve’s a bigger star than he ever was.   ~~This was around when Peggy divorced him, not that I blame her, but…  What happened next was Buck’s fault.  His studio?  His fault.  Surfing.  Why the hell was Steve Rogers surfing?  Or dating starlets, for that matter?  1960’s, supposedly we’re all~~ ~~ _modern_~~ ~~, etcetera (see above).  Why the hell should he have~~ ~~ _had_~~ ~~to date anyone?  Or if he did have to, why not have it be someone his own age?  A nice girl in her mid-30’s, a widow maybe, or a divorcee.  We’re so “modern”, who’d even care anyway, if she had been divorced?  Never mind.~~

Steve and Peggy, that was a shame, but things happen, irreconcilable differences, etcetera.  They both went their own separate ways, but they parted as friends ~~(and whatever the hell other clichés I can find, that’ll go in there)~~.  And then after that, well a guy gets lonely.  And then, the accident?  A tragedy.  Nobody’s fault.  And you watch _Captain America_ to this day, there’s that part in the credits, “In the Memory of Steve…”  Buck insisted they put that in there ~~(a lie)~~ , because he and Steve were such _good friends_.

And that brings me up to what I’ve been doing, the past couple of years.   ~~(Which is mostly getting drunk and watching old~~ ~~ _Cap_~~ ~~reruns, and then writing a lot of stupid garbage.  But we’re not going to talk about anything like that, are we?)~~  I haven’t given up writing _Cap_ stories, in fact he’s due to appear in the next installment.  First came his story, then I wrote Iron-Man’s.  Next up?  Well, you haven’t seen Cap, until you’ve seen him face off against his best friend, in _Civil War_ (due out in December, spring release at the latest, $3.95 for the hardcover, or whatever the hell price Simon and Schuster is charging people for hardcover books by then, given the way inflation is going).

__________________________

February 12, 1967

Dear Pep,

I’ve got that autobio done, that you were ~~nagging~~ asking about.  It’s a little rough, but it’s mostly finished.  What say we meet for lunch somewhere, and we can discuss revisions?  Brown Derby okay?  I’m free Tuesday, any time after 1:00.  Call me, beautiful.

\-- Tones


	2. Brainstorming (Probably Not Usable)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Strangers in the night, two lonely people,  
> We were strangers in the night.  
> Up to the moment when we said our first hello,  
> Little did we know,  
> Love was just a glance away, a warm embracing dance away,  
> And ever since that night  
> We've been together,  
> Lovers at first sight,  
> In love forever.  
> It turned out so right  
> For strangers in the night.”  
> \-- Frank Sinatra, “Strangers in the Night”

~~Everybody thinks you grew up with him.  That’s a lie, you didn’t.~~ ~~_I_ ~~ ~~wrote that, it made the story better.  Then you come along, everyone suddenly thinks it’s gospel-truth.  You were fine with that too, weren’t you?  Wonder why.  Wonder what was in your real past that you didn’t want people knowing about.  The spy thing:  Really close to truth?  Buck Barnes, the Manchurian Candidate…  Manchurian TV producer, make a show like~~ ~~_Captain America_ ~~ ~~, you get all this great press, etcetera.~~ ~~_What are you really up to?_ ~~

~~Steve never loved you, Buck-o.  Not even in the prison camp.  I talked to him about that, know what he said?  “Buck Barnes?  I don’t remember a Buck Barnes.”  His words, Buckster,~~ ~~_his words_ ~~ ~~.  My god, the way you went around all bereaved-acting after the accident?  Disgusting.  No excuse for it, it was all fake.  It was a lie, the whole Cap-and-Bucky-Are-Best-Friends thing?  I wrote that, it was fiction.  So maybe you did serve together overseas.  So what?  Everyone serves with everyone overseas, and it means nothing.~~ ~~_Steve picked me, we lived together for fifteen years._ ~~ ~~What do you have that you can brag about, Buck-orama?~~

~~Also?  Bucky is~~ ~~_not_ ~~ ~~Captain America.  Go to the goddamn books, he’s a goddamn HYDRA agent.  Scene in the second book:  Remember the brainwashing scene?  Documented, right there:  Bucky can be controlled.  How long before someone comes along and reactivates the mind-control, you know how~~ ~~_dumb_ ~~ ~~it is, putting him in Cap’s place?~~

~~Goddammit.~~

__________________________

  
  


Standard rule of writing:  You start with brainstorming.  First you write down whatever the hell comes into your head, then after a while, that’s when the good stuff starts coming.   _Parade_ profile, good example.  That one actually turned out quite well, maybe I could be a non-fiction writer after all.  Maybe it was all about finding the right subject, maybe I’m just better at writing me than I am at writing Steve.

Or maybe Pepper editing the hell out of that thing over lunch had a lot to do with it.  Maybe she’s the non-fiction writer, not me.  And do I see her editing a memoir for me?  Especially if it’s an honest one, including the homosexual parts?  No, not really.  She’d do it.  She’s my agent, her job to sell whatever the hell I write, even if it means editing.  But would I show that crap to her?  No.  I hope not.   ~~Not unless I was really, really drunk.~~

Gay bars:  Went into one the other day.  Here’s the thing, and it’s weird how it works.  Those places, depressing as hell, you never saw anything so bleak, and the smell?  Funny how your brain operates, places like that, well you just get close to one, you ought to be thinking about turning around and running away.  Just get a whiff of a place like that, that should be enough, that should be more than enough.

~~What is it about Tuesdays?  It’s always a Tuesday.  Night, I mean, 8:00 PM…  Why do I do it to myself, why do I let myself turn on the goddamn TV?  But I am getting better, used to sit on the couch and watch the whole damn thing.  Didn’t do that anyway, did I?~~

~~You know what I want to do sometimes?  Go see Barnes.  Tell him to hell with the royalties, I don’t care about the royalties, you think I even need that money? Tell him, get the damn program off the air, it doesn’t belong on the air.  It’s not even~~ ~~_Captain America_ ~~ ~~anymore, not really, not without Steve.~~

I was saying.  Bars:  Smell’s terrible, but you know what?  You get sucked in.  No, not even that, no, this is worse, it’s like the smell’s part of it.  Smell’s part of the attraction, how disgusting is that?  You smell it, instantly your heart is beating faster.  From the stink of clogged drains and urinals?  Jesus God.

Big action in any gay bar, is always in the men’s room.  And it’s anonymous, because it has to be.  Sit down next to a guy and say hi?  He might be a cop, you might get arrested.  But if it’s just some guy putting his cock through a hole, or if you’re the one putting yours through the hole, and he’s the mouth on the other end?  How many cops are going to go that far, just to get an arrest?

...You come into a gay bar, and instantly, the smell hits you.  And you think of it, it’s like it’s the _smell of sex_ …  What does it say about homosexuals, that that’s the smell of sex for us?  What does it say about what society’s made us, or what we’ve made ourselves, or…  I don’t know.

Sometimes you go to a bar, and that’s what you want, you want the stink, and the anonymity, you want all of it.  And then there are the other times, and it’s like they take more courage.  Two people, reaching across the distance, and making a connection.  Very Sinatra, very “Strangers in the Night,” only more so, unless…  You know, unless there are some details about Sinatra’s, shall we say, _proclivities_ that no one’s heard about?

There aren’t, by the way, I’ve met Sinatra, he’s as normal as they come.  He’s boringly normal, shared mistresses with Kennedy, or so I heard.  Girls with Mafia ties…  What is it with normal men, they have it so easy, women everywhere, and they can have all of ‘em they want, so what do they do?  Start grabbing the most dangerous ones they can find?  Why?  But I guess it’s not just us fairies that like it dangerous, and oh Jesus God, am I getting off-track, and losing the topic (whatever the hell the topic even was)!  Focus, Stark, _focus_.

Met someone at the bar last night.  Probably never see him again, which is how those things always go, but I am a writer, it’s all grist for me, right?   ~~Grist, fun word…~~ ~~ _I’m doing it again_~~ ~~.~~  Here’s the thing, is I’m bringing up Loki for a reason, it’s because he’s an example:  This is what it looks like when you’re looking for… shall we say, more?  This is what it looks like when you’re going to a bar, and you’re not just there for the action, oh no, you’re trying to find someone:

What kinds of nights do you try to find someone?  When you’re drunk.  Because like I said, you don’t find people at a bar, it just doesn’t make sense.  Good old days, it was different, good old days, this town was wide-open.  Good old days, when you could sit down next to Randolph Scott in any old bar you went into, or Cary Grant, or anybody, and the cops stuck to what they should be doing.  You could find ‘em in the bushes at Pershing Square maybe, but who the hell wants to even go there?  Good old days, you’d go to a bar and you could find someone, but that all changed after the War, and nowadays?  Nothing but a memory.

Oh well.  And anyway, it _can_ be done, I met Steve at a bar, didn’t I?  Fact that it can be done is why people keep trying (which is why the cops keep coming too, eternal circle, hope unrealized, substance of things deferred, etcetera etcetera).  Which I guess is why I do it too.  B.F. Skinner, experimental psychologist.  He did this thing with rats, showed you only need to reward them once in awhile, not every time, and they’ll keep coming and coming.  That’s me:  I’m the rat that got rewarded once, 20 years ago, now you can’t keep me away.

You go in different, when you want to meet someone.  You’re very careful, you don’t want to drink very much.  Probably you’re drunk already, because let’s face it, why the hell else are you in a gay bar, and you think you’re going to find love?  Comical spectacle of a guy falling-down-drunk, but he pretends that it matters if he has one beer or two.  And the beer’s always watered down anyway, but Heaven forbid you should have too much of it, you want to keep your head clear, don’t you?  Like that’s still really an option?  But there you are anyway, and you’re sitting at the bar, and you’re scanning the whole room.  “That guy,” you think, “is he a cop?  And that one? And that one?  And that one?”

They’ve got cops that look like they love everything as much as anybody, that’s how they get you.  But say you get lucky, say you get one of the good ones:  Comical dance, two drunk men.  There’s this phrase, “beer goggles?”  Man at a gay bar needs beer goggles, you can’t get too picky; they say the cops are always the best-looking ones in the place.  And you look through those beer goggles, you try to make him look better than you know he really does.  Whole time, you’re watching him, he’s doing the exact-same thing with you.

And then once in a really long time you get lucky, but mostly it’s really dumb luck.  You’re sitting there, and you’re really drunk, and maybe you’re wishing you’d never even come.  And a guy comes up, good-looking guy (younger than you, of course, because for some reason that always makes ‘em more attractive).

I almost didn’t go with Loki; he was too pushy, and right up until the last minute…  I was drunk, that’s the only reason, because he was so obvious.  Blatant, flat-out blunt, walking over and out-and-out telling me what he wanted, like we were…  Oh Jesus Christ, where the hell could we be, where that kind of behavior would be normal?  Been to Fire Island, it’s not even like that there, stories or no stories.  Cops hiding in the beach grass on Fire Island, and of course the bars are infested with ‘em, just like everyplace.  But then there are the private parties, and that’s how it was with Loki, it was like he was at a party, where you can get away with things you couldn’t in public.  And he comes over to me really blatant, like I said, and he says he wants to buy me a drink, and right away all my instincts are going, “Cop, cop, cop!”

But I went with him.  And I’m still here, aren’t I, I didn’t get arrested?  No thanks to me, I was really drunk, if he’d been a cop, I’d have been nailed for sure.  But he wasn’t, so that’s a happy ending for me.   ~~I could use a happy ending, for once.~~

Loki:  Skinny, gawky, green-eyed.  I prefer a man with some muscles on him, but you know what they say, beggars can’t be choosers.  And he said, “Can I buy you a drink?”  I said no, I didn’t need another one, and he said to me, “Maybe we can take a walk then?”

We took a walk.  You know Tommy’s downtown?  God, why does anybody go to that place?  Because they’re drunk, that’s why.  And we went there, and we got some burgers.  Same crapshow it always is, like, a million rich brats from USC over there, coeds puking in the bushes, muscleheaded jocks showing off, chili running down their arms, etcetera.  And Loki walks through the whole thing like it’s not even there.  Pure-cool, that guy, like butter won’t melt in his mouth, maybe that was the attraction.

And we’re two burgers in…  (My idea. I was drunk, remember?  And stupid?)  ...Two lousy, greasy Tommy’s chili-burgers in, and I say to him, “You want to go someplace more comfortable?”

And Loki looks at me, cool, green-eyed stare.  “I don’t know,” he says, “you sure you’re up for it?”

And I was, so I said yeah, and then we did.  Maybe will write about that part later, we’ll have to see.  Better get going on _Civil War_ now though, or Pep’ll be mad ~~(der)~~ at me.


	3. More Unusable Material

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It's a dirty story of a dirty man,  
> And his clinging wife doesn't understand.  
> His son is working for the Daily Mail  
> It's a steady job,  
> But he wants to be a paperback writer,  
> Paperback writer.  
> Paperback writer, paperback writer.”  
> \-- The Beatles, “Paperback Writer”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excerpts at the beginning of the chapter are from _Iron Man,_ by Peter David, changed only slightly, to make them fit the needs of this story. Rights belong to Ballantine Books, or they did as of 2008, when the book was published. I am ...hopefully entitled to use them here, under Fair Use.
> 
> LOL, if you come back later and find this story gone, maybe that will be why. Who knows how protective Ballantine Books is of its super-hero novelizations?

“ _I’m not like other reporters you may have met,” she said.  “I tend to do my homework.  I’ve gone over every interview you’ve done over the years.  Any canned responses you toss at someone else?  They’re all up here.”  She tapped the side of her head.  “So if you want to impress me, as you clearly are desperately trying to do, then you’re going to have to to come up with something new.  Because the stuff that works on the schmos from the New York Times isn’t going to fly with me.”_

Five years since I wrote that.  Not bad really, not overall.  Problem with _Civil War_?  No sex in it.  What’s Iron-Man, without his sex?  What would he feel like?  What would it be like to… you know, to be him?

There’s something there, something that’s getting in the way.  If I knew…  If I just could figure out what the hell it was…

Maybe I could do something with it, if I knew what it was, but I don’t, so what the hell, I guess I can’t.

“ _And what if I don’t care about impressing you?”_

“ _Ohh,” and she smiled, “I think we both know that you do.  Your psychological makeup won’t have it any other way.”_

“ _Wow.  You really have done your homework, haven’t you?”_

“ _Boss?”_

_It was Hogan, standing by the passenger side of the limo and holding the door open.  Traffic was starting to stack up behind them._

“ _Tell you what,” the industrialist said.  “Just how in-depth are you interested in going here?”_

“ _As in-depth as you’re willing to take me.”_

“ _Well then,” and he gestured toward the limo.  “Get in.  And I guarantee that you’ll see sides of me that no schmo from the Times has ever seen.  Consider that an iron-clad promise.”_

Sex.  Or flirtation, anyway.  Iron-Man always gets plenty of sex, it’s like his defining quality.   ~~(Difference between him and me.)~~  And that’s how you write it, like that:  First you describe the girl.  Make her blonde, the readers like that.  Give her a chest, people like that too, then after that you want some banter, real Nick-and-Nora/ _Thin Man_ kind of stuff, and then after that?  After that, nothing, you just fade into black.  

Wouldn’t fly nowadays.  Ha, _nowadays_?  And it’s just five years, since _Iron-Man I_?  But that’s how fast things are changing, these days.  I introduced him now, Iron-Man would have to be explicit, and I’d probably go out of business, because how the hell many girls have I ever been with?  But not a problem lately, because these new ones don’t have any sex at all in ‘em, it’s just fighting-fighting-fighting.  You could say the characterization suffers.  I don’t know.  Readers aren’t complaining, are they?   ~~Ha, _readers_.  Give ‘em a giant monster and a few flying cars, and the _readers_ are happy.  They don’t ask for much, and then you get lazy.~~

Don’t know where I’m going with this.

__________________________

Loki:  We didn’t do any of that banter stuff, well, we talked, yeah, but that was before we got home.  His home, not mine.  I remember I said to him, “Let’s go somewhere more comfortable,” he looks at me with this slanted green-eyed glance.

“Your place?” he says.

And me, I don’t remember what I said.  I made some excuse, is what I did, because there was a reason I couldn’t take him home.  Because it was a Tuesday, because I’d been writing, because I know what kinds of things I always write on Tuesdays.  Turned out afterward, I was right, too.  Spent the evening with Loki, stayed late, like really late, like almost until morning.  then I came home, and there was all the usual stuff waiting for me, all over the kitchen table.

~~Me and the kitchen table, and the bottle of whiskey that always keeps me company there.  Like a love story, but a really ugly one.  Like a trap, that I’d gnaw my foot off of, just to get out of.~~

Where was I?

“Your place?” Loki asks me, and I made up some excuse.

“Oh, there’s someone else living there,” I said, or…  I don’t remember exactly what I said.  Told him the truth, maybe that’s what I did, maybe I said, “Oh, I can’t wait that long, or I asked him, “Can you wait that long?”  And then maybe he said no.

Anyway, we went to his place.  And we did both want it, really badly.  I remember having my arms around him, while we were coming up the stairs.  I remember worrying, “Someone’s going to see us, we’re out in public,” etcetera.

And that slanted look he kept giving me, like I was saying something dumb.  “Do you care?” he said.  And I didn’t, not right then, anyway.

And we went up the stairs with our arms around each other, and then we were in the hallway, kissing.  And then we were at his door…  He kept pushing me away.  “Stop,” he’d say, “let me get my key out, let me unlock this door.”  But he was laughing while he said it, and I didn’t stop.  Come to think of it, it’s a good thing we didn’t do the whole thing right out there in the hallway, because I was ready to, and Loki was too, I think.  But I let him get the door open, finally, and then we went inside.

I don’t remember what his place looked like.  Not good, I think; I remember I got the impression he doesn’t have a whole lot of money.  I remember dark-colored carpets, feeling of grit under my feet.  I remember some of that horrible furniture like you find in furnished apartments.  Grandma-furniture, only Grandmas take care of their things.  The kind of stuff I mean looks like it’s been used by every hobo that’s been through Los Angeles in the past 30 years.

But like I said, it didn’t matter.  Like I said, we were no sooner through the door, than we were all over each other again.  And Loki was laughing again... -- Funny kid.  Lots of moods.  Sometimes he’d almost put you off, there’s a scheming look that goes across his face sometimes, and afterward you’re not even sure you saw it right.  But when he laughs?  God, I don’t think anyone could resist Loki when he laughs. -- ...He was laughing, and, “Let me get the door shut,” he says, “Just let me get it shut, Tony, will you leave me alone?”  And he was swatting my hands away, but at the same time, he was laughing, and half the time, his hands were all over me too.

We were both naked by then.  Loki’s a little on the thin side, like I said, but I wasn’t in any mood to care.  And with him, it’s like it didn’t matter, it’s like…  God, Mr. Writer-Man, where are all your words when you need them?  Is it because you’re writing about yourself?  But a good writer can write about anything.  ...What was I saying?  Charisma, that’s what it is.  That’s what Loki has, that pulls you in.  Best stars are never the ones with pure, natural beauty.  Bette Davis, is she beautiful?  Or Joan Crawford, or any of the greats?  Pretty faces are a dime a dozen, but some people have charisma, and they’re the ones that make it.  And that was kind of how it was with Loki.  Kind of a low-level example, that was probably just beer goggles; like I said, I was really drunk that night.

Door was shut, and we started going at it like animals.  How much detail should I give?  Even in these decadent days, how much is any reader going to tolerate?  But why do I need to care?  No one’s ever going to see this, this is just to loosen the writing muscles, and then it’s back to _Civil War_ for me.  So here I go, I’ll write the whole thing.  Hold onto your hats, folks, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.

First time is always over, really fast.  You go for so long without anything, and then you finally do find someone, and both of you are always so eager.  Him, face-down, knees bent, buttocks in the air…   _Can_ I write this?  How honest can you be, Mr. Tony Stark, Mr. Famous Writer-Guy?  Well, it looks like we’re about to find out.  ...I don’t really like to describe it all clinical like that, let me describe it how it feels when you’re doing it, instead:

His body was all white, and it was very, very smooth.  And we were on his bed, which you could tell hadn’t been made in god knows how long.  And he was facedown, he wanted to be, and I was on top of him.  And I did everything I wanted to do, first I took him hard, and he kept moaning, “Yes, yes, harder, faster, more, Tony.”  And then afterwards there was all this kissing, really lazy, really slow, kissing.  Kissing that was a euphemism, because for a writer, I’m pretty damn squeamish about writing some things, apparently.   _When it’s about myself._

Secret file. where all the lousy stuff always goes.  And I should just throw it the hell away, shouldn’t I, because god knows, it’s never going to be good for anything.  And yet…  I’m a writer, hard for me to get rid of anything.

Anyway, this is just for me, let me be blunt:  What was good about it with Loki, was that we had all that time.  Good time, lots of good time, almost a whole night’s worth of time.  And I took him once just to satisfy myself…  Knew he wasn’t getting satisfied at the same time, but neither of us cared, because we knew that wasn’t going to be the end of it.  And then afterwards I turned him over, and I… I satisfied him…

God, that’s badly put.  But how else to say it?  Fellatio?  Who says fellatio?

Problem with these permissive times:  Things sound so bad when you say them flat-out.  Things that aren’t bad when they’re happening, but some things aren’t meant to be said flat-out, that’s what it is.  Sex should be obscured, you’re cheapening one of the most beautiful things.  My god, I sound like an old fuddy-duddy, don’t I?

Short version:  It was good.  Loki and me:  It was very good.  And the long version:  Better stick to writing flirtation, Stark, or lots of scenes with more giant monsters, nothing but giant monsters, and lots of flying cars.  Or better yet?  Go write _Civil War_ , like you’re supposed to be doing, and get it to Pepper, like she told you to.


	4. Writer's Block -- Not a Big Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “She came in through the bathroom window  
> Protected by a silver spoon,  
> But now she sucks her thumb and wanders,  
> By the banks of her own lagoon.
> 
> Didn't anybody tell her?  
> Didn't anybody see?  
> Sunday's on the phone to Monday,  
> Tuesday's on the phone to me.
> 
> She said she'd always been a dancer,  
> She worked at fifteen clubs a day.  
> And though she thought I knew the answer,  
> Well I knew what I could not say.
> 
> And so I quit the police department,  
> And got myself a steady job.  
> And though she tried her best to help me,  
> She could steal but she could not rob.”  
> \-- The Beatles, “She Came In Through The Bathroom Window”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so many comments in my Inbox, that need answering, and I will get to them, I promise. But I've been trying to get this damn chapter to work for like a week, and now that I've managed to write it, I'm going to post, and respond to friends when I have more time, after work (or maybe even later in the week, because I am horribly lazy like that).

“ _This is why I love coming home for Christmas,” the boy tells his father, “right before you leave town.”_

_The old man frowns._

_His wife puts a hand on his arm.  “Be nice, Howard,” she tells him.  “He’s been studying abroad.”_

“ _Really?” the boy's father responds.  “Which broad? What’s her name?”_

_If there’s feelings there, the boy masks them.  “Candice,” he says, the voice elaborately casual._

_His father has already turned away.  “Try not to burn the house down before Monday,” he tells his son_.

And then some stuff happens.  500 or so more words.  100, maybe.

_He does miss you when you’re not here,” she tells her son.  “And frankly, you’re going to miss us, because this is the last time we’re all going to be together.  You know what’s about to happen, say something.  If you don’t, you’ll regret it.”_

_The boy goes to his father, as he enters the room again._ “ _I love you,” he tells him, “and I know you did the best you could.”_

_Gently, the mother kisses her son on the cheek, then lights go down on the scene, and a spotlight hits Iron-Man, standing at the podium.  “That’s how I wish it happened,” the millionaire industrialist says._

~~God, I’m so sick of this story.~~

__________________________

February 17, 1967

Dear Pep,

Two scenes.  As I promised.   ~~Tell Obie to get the hell off my back now, okay?~~  

Don’t worry about editing.  They don’t need any editing.   ~~They goddamn better not need any editing, I’m done with these damn scenes.~~

You complete me, beautiful.

\-- Tones

__________________________

Loki’s one of these know-it-all college-boys, think they’re an expert on everything.  Get a little booze in him…  A lot, maybe.  Funny, we were both so drunk the other night, and who knows what we would have talked about, but what we did talk about?  Writing.

Expert-Loki, the college-boy writer.  “What have you had published?” I say to him.  He tries to tell me about his articles.  Ha ha, article _s_ , barely more than one, I’m guessing, and not even all for the same magazine.  “Come back when you’ve got a book,” I should have said, but I was drunk, and I wanted him, and so what did I say?  I don’t know.  Whatever needed to be said, that’d keep him talking.  He just kept getting funnier and funnier.

And we were at Tommy’s, which, if you’ve never been there?  But it doesn’t matter if you’ve been there, exactly; you know the kind of place I mean.  Everyone knows those kinds of places, not a restaurant, but not just a stand either.  Walk-up order-window, couple of tables out front; it’s that kind of place.  And why are the tables always the worst, most beat-up looking concrete things you could ever imagine?  And why those umbrellas, that aren’t really umbrellas, they’re some kind of metal simulacra, and they’re completely useless?  Who’s the illusion for, anyway?  Some guy sitting there on a sunny day, what’s he going to say?  “Oh look, I have something that looks like an umbrella overhead, suddenly I am much cooler!”  

...And it’s downtown, you know what that means.  Pile of crap under our table, that night, I kid you not.  Riddle me this, Batman, how does someone take a crap under a table?  I mean, how is that even done?

Where was I?  Damned if I know.  Shouldn’t be writing about this.  I have a deadline, 30K by next week, and I’m falling behind.   ~~Lifetime of at least being able to say that I’m a successful pulp-writer?  If nothing else?  Goddammit Stark, stop talking like this is some kind of crisis-moment, it’s not.  All writers get blocked, now and then.~~

Loki called this morning, out of the clear blue sky, and I know what it was about, too.  College-Boy’s wants to talk about his college-boy plans for me again.  Well, why not let him?  Knowing him, I’m sure it’ll be worth my while.

He’s read The First Novel, see.  That’s what this is about.  Damn First Novel, should have bought up all those damn things back when I had the chance, and burned ‘em all.  (And why didn’t I?   _Steve’s money_.  Of course, it always came down to that.  When he always said, it didn’t even matter.)

I’m getting off-track again.  Let’s just tell this story:  And so, like I was saying, College-Boy’s read the First Novel, and naturally, he loves the hell out of it, because it’s _that kind of novel_.  You know what kind I mean.  And so of course, he loves it, and of course nothing will do, I have to immediately drop everything else, and I have to write him a million more, just like it, because why?   _Because College-Boy says so._  What is it with colleges, what do they feed them there?  Some kind of super-juice, makes kids think they can leap tall buildings with a single bound, and tell perfectly good pulp-novelists they’re not doing their job right.

But he was so funny  He was just the right amount of drunk, if you know what I mean.  And he was doing that thing drunks do, you know the one:  Leaning on his hand, free hand’s sort of waving about, kind of wildly.  He was holding his Tommy-burger.  I know this, because the next morning there were chili-stains, all over my pant-legs.  Indelible chili-stains.  Should make College-Boy pony up for some new ones, only how could he?  How much can he have made from those _two magazine articles_ , or whatever it was?  

Funny drunk-Loki, sitting there, waving his chili-burger around, and pontificating.  “Oh, it is a work of _genius_ ,” he says, “and, oh, so _moving_ , and oh, the _characters_.”  That was how he was, whole night of, oh _this_ , and oh, _that_ , and oh, _something else_ , who even cares what?

College-boys.  He hates the adventure books.  Of course.  “ _Genre fiction_ ,” he called them, nasty tone of voice, like he’s saying snakes, or something.

And me sitting there, just as drunk, of course.  Me letting him spill chili-grease on my pants, and crap all over my life’s work:   “Oh, that _genre fiction_ is beneath you, Stark,” he says, and I say...

_I don’t think I actually said anything._

And he’s going, “it’s beneath you,” and, “what you’re good at is characterization,” like he’s such an expert.  And, “I’ve read your…”  How did he put it?  Did he really say he’d read my complete oeuvre?  Please god, no, not even as drunk as he was.  But I think he did say it.

I’ll have to check, when I see him today.  Task for the day, Stark:  Get Loki drunk again.  Will first have to convince him we don’t need to go to that lousy cheap restaurant he was talking about.  I know you’re poor, Loki, couple magazine articles don’t exactly put the bread on the table, as it were, but some of us are swimming in filthy lucre, ill-gotten gains, for all the best-selling _genre fiction_ we’ve written over the years.  But, can I convince him?  He’s pretty stubborn.  Oh well, maybe they serve booze at Marie Callendar’s.

...Where was I?  Oh, that’s right, my _oeuvre_ :  Yeah, he said it, I’m sure of it.  He was drunk, he was saying all kinds of  things, so why would he have stopped with oeuvre?  Besides, he’s a college-boy,  When has a college-boy ever missed an opportunity to use a five-dollar word?

“Oh, I’ve read your entire _oeuvre_ , Stark,” he says, serious look on his face, like drunks get, you know the one I mean.  And I wanted him so bad, I was looking at him, at that serious, drunk-face of his.  And I barely heard half of what he said, because I was just looking at him, thinking about what I wanted us to do together (that we later did).  But I think I remember most of it:   “...Your oeuvre,” I know he said that.  And, “You are not an adventure-writer, Stark,” the little expert said, “what you are is a character-writer.”

~~There was some other stuff too.  Something about, “All that characterization is going to catch up to you, Stark, it’s going to ruin those genre-books of yours.”  Did he say it?  Not sure.  Maybe I was just thinking it, because I have thought it, and Jesus, I wish I wouldn’t.  Is something ruining the books?  No.  Everybody gets writer’s block sometimes.~~

We were both really drunk that night.  And I wanted him so bad, and later on that night, I had him.  But I know what he wants to see me about today.  He’s going to want to tell me again about writing serious fiction, because of my oeuvre, etcetera, etcetera.  And I know what I’m going to want to do, and I’m pretty sure I can do it too, if I play my cards right.  And Loki’s going to like it, because he did the other time.  I’m just going to have to let him pontificate at me for a while first, and then, voila!

Interviewer:  “How do you pay for your sex, Mr. Stark?”

Me:  “That’s easy, I just let College-Boy talk genre fiction and oeuvres, until he runs out of breath, and then I _ravish_ him,”

Interviewer:  (tittering)  “Oh, Mr. Stark, you’re too much.”

Me:  “Yeah, I know, I am.”  And then I wiggle my eyebrows at her, and then I go _get laid_.

__________________________

Loki’s dead to me.  Goddamn arrogant college-boy.


	5. Not Writing Time, So It Doesn't Matter That This is Completely Useless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Whatever Lola wants,  
> Lola gets,  
> And little man, little Lola wants you.  
> Make up your mind to have no regrets,  
> Recline yourself, resign yourself, you're through.
> 
> I always get what I aim for,  
> And your heart ‘n’ soul is what I came for.  
> Whatever Lola wants,  
> Lola gets,  
> Take off your coat,  
> Don't you know you can't win?  
> You're no exception to the rule,  
> I'm irresistible, you fool, give in!...Give in!...Give in!”  
> \-- _Damn Yankees_ , “Whatever Lola Wants”

Story:  There was this guy, this agent.  You used to see him around town all the time, I don’t remember exactly when. -- _Standard_ s, Stark, if this were for the book...   ~~(Which it should be, you should be writing that right now.)~~... _If_ this were for the book, you’d be careful, you’d be specific.  Try to be specific here too. -- Eh, to hell with it.  This isn’t for a book.  This is like witness-recollections, like for a criminal case…   _Why am I talking crimes here?_

Let’s start over again.  Agent-Guy:  I used to see him around, all the time.  Name of Wilson, I think,  It was one of those names nobody remembers, you know?  Zeppo Marx, William Morris, names you know, you know?  And this guy…  I want to say Wilson, but it could have been something else.  Smith, maybe, or Jones, or who knows?  And for a while he was around everywhere, all the time.

He wanted Steve, but he couldn’t have him, Steve was a William Morris man.  But he was always coming around, and he’d play me up, thought he could use me to get to Steve.  And how the parties used to go, we would be there, we’d be having a good time.  Guy was like a lump, like a toad, and ye gods, the smarminess of him.  And he was a fairy, didn’t even bother to disguise it.

Toad-Guy, hopping over, his eyes all over Steve, like he wished it was his hands there.  And uggh, the smarminess:  “Oh, hmm, er, Rogers…  Oh, nice evening, Rogers, and, oh, you’re looking nice tonight, are you looking to change your representation, Rogers, because I could take care of you, Rogers, _I could take care of you like no one else_.”  Jesus Christ.

Toad-Guy represented half the men in Hollywood back there, for a while.  I want to say 50’s, he represented all of ‘em.  All the pretty-boys, you know?  Only he was a double-dealer, which brings me to the story...

Next week I have to have 30K.  But I’ve got two scenes blocked out, I just have to write ‘em.  And they’re easy scenes:  Iron-Man at the elevator, and the angry mother, I’ve got that in my head, I could write it in no time.  Told myself I’d re-do Ant-Man and the Spider-Kid after that, try to get that one a little less insect-y.  (Obie, by the way?  Is a sucker for super-powers.  Any of ‘em, even the stupid ones, says the fans like ‘em.  Which will tell you all you need to know about what kind of fans I’m getting these days.)

This is free time.  I never write in the afternoons.  Inspiration is a morning-thing, and I did the rough-draft of the Ant-Man/Spider-Kid scene this morning, didn’t I?  So this is my time, nothing on the schedule the rest of the day, except dinner with Rhodey.  And his wife (which will keep Rhodey from mother-henning at me for a change, thank the good lord for small favors).  Anniversary dinner.  L ~~ove seeing happy couples being happy together, don’t you?  Eh, to hell with it, they’re entitled, let them have their happiness.~~  Anyway, four hours until that.   _Back to the story._

...This guy, this Wilson-guy:  Who does things like this?  What he did?  Jesus God.  I remember a nice kid.  Don’t remember what his real name was, or when he showed up…  Let me start at the beginning:

Of course Steve was already established by that time.  This would have been mid-50’s, or in other words, about the time Metro let me go for the arrests?  It was before I started work on _Captain America_ , I remember that because I had all that free time, which I don’t really like, it gets me in trouble.  And back then, I would go to all these parties.  With Steve, or without Steve, because if you know anything about how they work their stars in Hollywood, you’ll know what kind of free time he had.  AKA, zero free time.  Sometimes for months at a time.  And then all of a sudden, lots of free time, but this was during one of the times when he didn’t have any.  And I was going to all these parties, being given by all these different people.

Suddenly there was this new guy in town, and he was giving all these parties.  And by parties, I mean _parties_.  Real Hollywood parties, booze, drugs…  No broads, not at this guy’s parties; I believe I said, Wilson was a fairy.

I’m not perfect, I liked all the men there.  That was why I went.  But the booze was always pretty good booze, too, and the drugs?  Think about this:  Perfect California sunset, smell of steaks cooking on the barbecue.  You’re sitting by a pool, perfect blond demi-god sitting to your right, hands you the reefer, you take a hit, pass it on, to the god on your left.  You ever smoked reefer?  You should try.  Makes everything more perfect.

Reality:  Reefer makes things _seem_ perfect, which was what we needed for those parties, like a veil of dream, obscuring the ugly realities, and making you feel happy.  Reality?  Toad-Guy used those kids.  All those blond demi-gods belonged to him.  That was how he’d talk about them, it was always, “This is _my boy_ Tab,” or “ _my boy_ ” Rory, or Derrick, or whatever.  Which brings me to what I wanted to talk about:  Tab Hunter.

Ten years ago, almost to the day:  That was when Toad-Wilson sold out Tab for his own purposes, and where’s Tab Hunter now?  Dinner-theatre in Minneapolis, that was the last I heard, and I don’t remember how long ago that was.  And that was Wilson’s fault, Wilson’s the one.  Story I heard was, it was done to protect his real star, who I won’t name, because he’s still making pictures with Doris Day, and some of them are big hits.  I won’t tell secrets that’ll hurt a guy, unlike some people, such as Toad-Wilson.

Back to the story:  Wilson told tales on people, for his own purposes.  He threw Tab Hunter under the bus, and at least another one that I know of, and who knows how many more.  He told things that people don’t need to know.  Who’s homosexual:  Who needs to know that?  What does it have to do with how good an actor they are?  Or the other one, Rory Calhoun:  He served his time in jail, but Wilson was trying to protect his big star, and he leaked the story, and suddenly Rory’s nowhere.  Nice kid, Rory.  Not homosexual, so there was nothing doing with him, but he was a nice guy.  And he’s gone now, thank you, Toad-Wilson.

Self-serving, greedy bastard.  You don’t do that to people.  Bottom-feeding magazine:  I remember the name.  Everyone in Hollywood remembers that name, it was _Confidential_.  And it told all these dirty stories, and it hurt a lot of people.  Went out of business a couple years later, and we were all celebrating, but while it was in business, nobody was safe.  Which brings me to Loki…  No it doesn’t.  To hell with Loki.

He called, wanted to apologize.  I told him where he could go.

Name of that stupid magazine he’s working on:   _The Fairy Queen_.  Ye gods, shades of Edmund Spenser, anyone?  But they’re probably all college-boys, they probably intended it.  Trouble with today’s generation:  All these kids growing up, and there’s nothing real for them to do.  My generation?   _We had a war._  

Don’t tell me about Vietnam.  Vietnam’s not a war, it’s…  I don’t know what it is.  Don’t care, either.  A war’s something you can’t get out of.  If I had a dime for every kid I served next to, and they were going to college, but the draft just swooped down and got ‘em anyway, because we needed ‘em.  We were saving the world, what are they doing in Vietnam?  A generation from now, that place’ll be Communist, and our kids will have died for nothing.  That’s what they’re doing there right now, they’re dying for nothing, and not even all of them.  All these kids going to college, because they get deferments that way.  Real wars don’t defer a guy just so he can go to college, and get a bunch of ideas he doesn’t need anyway.

Loki:  He told me this as a joke, it was his idea of funny.  “Oh, I told ‘em I was queer,” he said… -- _Queer_. -- “...I told ‘em I was queer,” and he laughs.  “I said I was a fairy, and I came in carrying a purse...”  So he could get out of the draft, of course.  He ruins his future, well to hell with him, it’s his future, isn’t it?  If he wants to ruin it…

And then he starts this magazine, with a lot of his friends, who are probably pot-smoking weirdos.  Love-beads, beards, etcetera.  Like the Beatles, nowadays.  All these kids with beards, going, “I’m a queer, I’m a homo,” starting a magazine calling it a queer magazine, for god’s sake...  I kid you not, that’s right under the masthead.   _The Fairy Queen, A Queer Magazine_.  And all the lives that have been ruined, and all the men I’ve seen, who’ve had their futures destroyed, and they go prancing around like that, with their goddamn queer magazine.

You ever read that magazine?  Don’t.  It’s disgusting.  Gives men’s names without their permission.  Exposes ‘em to god-knows-what, because why?  Because college-boys don’t know you can get fired for being a fairy?

Pfft, who doesn’t know that?  College-boys who start a magazine and think they’re writers, and they don’t care what happens to some other guys, who weren’t born with enough money to start a magazine.  And Loki comes to me:  “Oh, do an interview with me, Stark, oh, I’ll tell the truth about you, Stark, I’ll tell the whole truth.”  Idealistic words, no reality to them; sane men don’t tell the whole truth about themselves.

__________________________

It was his face, and the naked look of ambition that was in it.  Face just like Henry Wilson…  That was his name; I remembered.  Face just like the one he would wear when he was talking to his boys, and then he’d turn around and stab ‘em in the back for his own purposes.   _If_ I was going to let _The Fairy Queen_ have my information, which I’m not, Jesus God, why would I?  But, _if_ I was?

Face-Full-of-Ambition Loki isn’t getting my information, not now, not ever.  And I told him what he could do with his goddamn apology.  I ask him, “Is that why you talked to me the other night?”

And he looks at me, lies just like Frog-Face Henry Wilson.  “No.”

Go to hell, Liar-Loki.  You lied to me before, why should I believe you now?  “I won’t write anything about you,” he says, “not unless _you_ give the okay…”  Notice the weasel-words there?  “Unless you give the okay,” which means he’s still planning to do it, he just wants to work on me first.

Go work on someone else, Loki.  Stark’s not playing.


	6. Late-Night Musings of One Anthony Stark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “‘Good night,’ the other said. Turning off the electric light he continued the conversation with himself. It was the light of course but it is necessary that the place be clean and pleasant. You do not want music. Certainly you do not want music. Nor can you stand before a bar with dignity although that is all that is provided for these hours. What did he fear? It was not a fear or dread, It was a nothing that he knew too well. It was all a nothing and a man was a nothing too. It was only that and light was all it needed and a certain cleanness and order. Some lived in it and never felt it but he knew it all was nada y pues nada y nada y pues nada. Our nada who art in nada, nada be thy name thy kingdom nada thy will be nada in nada as it is in nada. Give us this nada our daily nada and nada us our nada as we nada our nadas and nada us not into nada but deliver us from nada; pues nada. Hail nothing full of nothing, nothing is with thee. He smiled and stood before a bar with a shining steam pressure coffee machine. ”  
> \-- Ernest Hemingway, “A Clean Well-Lighted Place”

Loki.  More to him than a spoiled, pampered, rich brat.  There’s a story there, not a good story, not for him.  Here’s what I saw:

Okay, Tuesday, yesterday, naturally problematic.  And dinner with Rhodey and his wife, also problematic (for various reasons, that I won’t get into here).  Bar felt like a relief, like I walked in, I could literally feel my spirits lifting.  Ha, relaxed feeling, holding a dirty glass of watered beer,  Aren’t we faggots pathetic?  And the other faces around the bar, pretty boys, and cops who looked like pretty boys, and the inner knowledge:  I can have action, any time I want it, just go into the men’s room and there it is.  Pathetic?  I guess.  I don’t know.  It’s familiar; familiar is its own type of good.

Anyway, I was there:  Saw Loki of course, saw him right off, soon as I sat down.  And he’s with this other guy, blond guy, very good-looking.  They were fighting.  And at first?  I don’t pay any attention.  Why the hell would I?  What is Loki to me?  Saw other people watching; They were really making spectacles out of themselves, and especially Loki.  All these faces, all the smug looks, and the amused looks.  And after a while, I looked too.  You can’t help it, you know?

Blond-guy was what you’d call a perfect specimen.  Muscle-magazines, blond gods in posing-straps, movies about teens surfing, bronzed pectorals, and blond hair blowing back in the wind.  He was like that, the kind of guy where you know if he walks into a bar, he’s going to be the cynosure of all eyes.  Fairies are so predictable.  Media, such as it is, doesn’t help, gives us these images of blond-perfection.   ~~(Like Steve, and I’ve always wondered:  Is that why I liked him so much?  But it wasn’t, there was more to that, lots more.  Oh hell.)~~

I was talking about Loki.  He’s sitting over there with blond-god, and I can see he’s three sheets to the wind, even from where I’m sitting.  Because he’s so in-control when he’s sober, so it’s really obvious when he’s not.  And he’s letting blond-god have it.  Blond-god’s firing back, but it’s mostly Loki.  Mostly it’s soft enough that I can’t hear, the way it should be, you know?  Nobody wants to air their dirty linen in public.  Then now and then I’d catch a few words:  “ _Your_ father,” and, “ _your_ safe little home,” and, “ _your_ this-and-that,” and so forth.  And you could see blond-god tighten up, every time Loki threw some of that at him, and then he’d answer, but you could tell it was never the right answer.

I found out what was going on between them, later on.  Loki was really drunk, he was sort of _vomiting_ the words at me.  All these words, and all this unhappiness.  A homosexual is the loneliest man in the world, because he has to hide, all the time.  And if that guard once comes down…  It came down with Loki, last night.  Never wanted to be his protector, but there’s an obligation, when a man puts that kind of trust in you, even if he only does it because he’s drunk.  And, sort of a universal story, a bad story…  But I’ll get to that, let me tell this the way it happened:

There’s Loki and blond-god.  And all the men in the bar were watching them, not just me.  And at first, you know it was just because of the looks.  Because blond-god’s perfection, but Loki’s no slouch in the looks department either.  Some might actually prefer him, he’s skinny, but he’s lithe, and that arrogant way he carries himself has a real appeal.  So they were watching for that of that, and then because of the fight, and that was happening when I started watching.  And then the fight really got going, and we couldn’t have turned away even if we’d wanted to.  And we can hear snatches of what they’re saying; mostly it’s from Loki, all the _your_ fathers, and the _your_ mothers, etcetera.  And once in a while blond-god gets a word in edgewise, and here’s how that one went:

“Disloyal,” he says at one point… -- Blond-god, you understand, not Loki. -- Loki was getting louder, which had caused blond-god to raise his voice too.  There was a lull in the bar at that moment, and I hear him fairly shout, “Disloyal.”  Saw Loki’s expression when he said it, too.  Not a lot of expression, but if you know Loki, you can read it.

Disturbing to realize that I do know Loki that well.  One meeting, how the hell do you get to know someone that well in one meeting?  And why does it have to be Loki?  I still think he’d sell me out to make that magazine of his work.  

This is irrelevant to the story.  Sooner or later I’ll have to think about it, but no need to do it now.  For now let me just tell what happened.  Maybe later when I read it over, I can see the implications.  And as I was saying, both of them are raising their voices some by this point, Loki and his blond buddy, and I’m hearing some, at least, of what both of them are saying.  And Loki’s just unleashed this flood of abuse on the blond one, and then Blondie fires back with his own.  One word I caught, “disloyal,” and Loki’s facing me when he hears it, and I can see his face, see what it does to him.

All this color in his face.  Then Blondie says “disloyal,” and it just goes white.  And his eyes get darker for a minute.  You wouldn’t even have noticed, if you didn’t know him (which, unfortunately, I do now, apparently), but if you did?  Anger and pain, in that face, and actually, more pain than anger…

Okay, real talk here for a moment:  Am I falling in love with Loki?  Do I want to fall in love with Loki?  Second one first:  No I don’t.  Didn’t really want to fall in love with Steve.  Neurotic part inside, always telling me, “Love makes a man weak.”  Always felt so weak with Steve, he’d walk away, and I’d always wonder, “What is he doing?”  Long hours on-set, not to mention the times when he was on-location somewhere.   ~~I think he did cheat on me with Bucky, I really believe he did.~~   _No evidence_ that Steve was unfaithful, ever; this isn’t about evidence, it’s about that neurotic part inside myself.  The part that makes me scared of love ~~(and maybe makes me pick out guaranteed failures like Loki, and fall for them hard)~~.

Enough real talk.  Worst thing about love is the pain it causes.  I went through that with Steve, and I’m going to hate like hell if I have to go through it with Loki.  Even the slightest possibility, that’s when I drop him like a hot potato.  Buy a house in Key West, maybe take up bill-fishing, like Papa Hemingway (just don’t take up drinking mojitos all night and all day like him too).  Sweat Loki out, in the hot Florida sun, if it becomes an issue, which for now at any rate, it isn’t.  Right now, I’m just getting a little bit curious.

Which brings me back to the story:  After a while, blond guy stomps out of the bar, leaving Loki alone.  That was when Loki came over to me, and he started letting me have it too.  It was pretty unreasonable stuff he was saying, what kind of guy was I, I should trust another man’s word, etcetera.  Pride held onto, by the thinnest thread…  There I am, seeing deeper into him than I want to again, this could get dangerous.  But that’s what it was, and you could see it:  This was a man who didn’t have anything at that moment, except his pride, and he was going to hold onto that.

He said, “If you don’t trust me, there’s nothing between us.”

And I said, “Why would there be anything between us?”

Loki said, “There isn’t, of course there isn’t…”   _Here’s why I took him home with me last night_ :

Bad idea?  Of course it was.  But at the time it felt like I had no choice.  Goddamn Loki’s shouting about, “Why don’t you take me to the back room, why don’t you do me, Stark, why don’t you do me hard.”  All at top volume, you understand, because why?  Drunks have no sense of self-preservation.

Took him home so he wouldn’t get arrested, that’s it in a nutshell.  And he passes out in the car, but then when I got him back to my place, he wakes up a little.  And he talks, all this talk:

Blond-god is Thor.  He was his first love.  Who forgets their first love?  Blond-god’s parents caught Loki with him, that’s what happened.  And they told Loki’s parents, and they threw him out (which is what happens, so often it’s a cliché).  He cried in my arms, last night.  He was talking about Thor, and first it was all anger, but then came the tears.  Tears of loss, “ _Thor’s_ idea, but they threw me out, and his parents stood by him.”  Who hasn’t heard that story, what homosexual, anyway?  And he’s in my arms, and he’s a complete mess.  Tears, and all that talking, like he can’t shut up.  Probably couldn’t shut up, being drunk hits some men that way.  I was going to put him on the couch, but then I was feeling sorry for him, took him into my room, and put him to bed there.

Now what?  I guess I go to sleep myself.  But Loki’s kind of stolen all the sleep right out of me.  Nice to be thinking about somebody else’s problems for a change, which is probably why I’m doing it…  Oh what the hell, who knows why I’m doing it?  Maybe I am falling for him.

He’s lost something, and I’ve lost something:  That’s the bond.  And he understands jealousy, all those things he was throwing at Thor at the bar, all those accusations:  “I know you were with Fandral,” whoever Fandral is, and, “You and Hogun,” and “You and Volstagg,” and a lot of other names.  And, “You and Jane Foster…”   ~~(~~ ~~ _I think Jane is his Bucky_~~ ~~.)~~

It’s the middle of the night.  If Jarvis were here, I’d make him make coffee.  Just one of many times I wish I’d kept him on for live-in.  Welp, Jarvis doesn’t get here for another four hours.  And I make terrible coffee, and I don’t think we have any instant.  So I guess it’s bedtime for me, even if I don’t sleep.  But no couch; I’m going to do Loki a favor.

I’ll sleep next to him, because I know what it is, to have another warm body beside you.  and maybe he’ll wake up a little, and he’ll think I’m Thor ~~(and maybe I’ll wake up a little, and I’ll think he’s Steve)~~.  And then in the morning Jarvis can make us some breakfast, and one of his patented hangover cures for Loki.  I will have to start being careful; there is real potential here, I could break my heart.  But what the hell, what time is it now?  4:30?  Plenty of time to be careful in the morning.


	7. Biography Attempt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Like the beat, beat, beat of the tom-tom,  
> When the jungle shadows fall,  
> Like the tick,tick, tock of the stately clock,  
> As it stands against the wall,  
> Like the drip, drip drip of the rain drops,  
> When the summer showers through,  
> A voice within me keeps repeating,  
> ‘You, you, you.’
> 
> Night and day, you are the one,  
> Only you beneath the moon or under the sun,  
> Whether near to me or far, it's no matter darling,  
> Where you are,  
> I think of you,  
> Day and night, night and day.”  
> \-- Cole Porter, “Night and Day”

Steve:  I remember the first time I saw him.  I was in that stupid hospital that Pop picked out for me.  I heard he pulled strings all the way up to the White House, and when I get there?  Cold, whitewashed corridors, echoes of Civil War nurses’ hoop-skirts, and the smell was of the bully-beef, that they served the first men, back from Manila.  God, that place:  Hard beds, and the grey, winter light outside.  You can’t blame the place because it was winter, but it was all part of that same thing, you see?  And the long days, lying there in the cold beds, and nothing to do but talk to Rhodey, and how long can you talk to anyone, no matter how great they are, before you start getting bored?  And we were so bored, and there was that grey light outside, and the shh-shh sound of the sleet, against the windows.

And Steve walked into the room, and it was like springtime came in with him.  Did the sun really come out and halo his head?  Jesus, after all this time, who even knows?  Not to mention, who cares?  Because that’s how he was, Steve was just like spring; he was warm like that, and he made you feel good, just being around him.  People who’ve only seen him on TV, they don’t understand Steve Rogers, because they can’t.  You can’t get what he had onto a tiny screen.

Overused words, sunny nature, warm disposition.  You can just throw the clichés at him, and they’ll all stick, because they were all true.  Nobody’s really as nice as that, but Steve was.  He was like sunlight, and being with him was like basking in the sun.  And I was like a lizard on a rock, soaking up the warmth of Steve’s presence, and for a while there it felt like it was never going to go away.

God, what sentimental tripe I’m writing.  And why?  Nobody wants a biography of Steve Rogers.

Nobody wants _my_ biography of Steve Rogers.  Anyway, I’ve already written all the important parts.  You want to know about Steve’s life?  Go pick up a copy of _The First Avenger_.  Childhood in Brooklyn?  Check.  And the art school training, and the best friend, who protected him.  A girl, really, that’s what he told me.  I picture Nancy Walker, or there was another one, Patsy something, I don’t remember, exactly.  One of those tough, battling, 40’s-era broads, Rosie the Riveter, “Yes we _can_.” etcetera.  But I gave him Bucky in the book, of course, because who wants to read about a hero who needs girls to fight his battles for him?

Tragedy of my life is that I didn’t know Steve then.  Pfft, tragedy.  What is tragedy?  It’s a _regret_ , let’s put it that way.  Used to loom larger than it does now, because back I had fewer regrets, but it’s still there.  And what I was saying:  Steve walked in my door, and it was like he was already finished, you know?  He was already a hero, and he already had that body, and of course he was born with the hair.  And I used to wish that I could have been part of making him like that, but I wasn’t, and I got him after he was already finished.  And there I was, it was me and Rhodey, lying there all grey, in our cold hospital-beds.  Daylight comes walking into the room with Steve, and it was like we both lit up...  

I lit up.  Rhodey?  Hmmph, selfish Anthony Stark:  Steve walks in, Rhodey just fell off the map altogether.  One minute he’s still there, after that he’s a buzz of noise in the periphery of my attention.  Later on he came back into my life, and he’s a Colonel, and he has all these medals, that he got _risking his life_.  Where was I when it happened?  Paying attention to Steve.  

Oh well, what the hell, everybody knows I’m selfish.   ~~You know someday maybe I will write Steve’s biography?  His real biography,  I mean, not the~~ ~~ _Parade_~~ ~~-magazine puff-piece I was working on, and then I couldn’t even do that, because of goddamn~~ ~~ _Peggy_~~ ~~.~~

I won’t; I don’t write non-fiction.  And anyway, why would anyone want that?  The hero who escaped Stalag 12 should not be bedding down with men in his spare time.  Next thing you know, you’re going to be wondering what he got up to with the other soldiers on his team.   ~~Those~~ ~~ _Howling_~~ ~~Commandoes?  What were they~~ ~~ _howling_~~ ~~about?  This way madness lies.~~  Hero needs a cute girl like Peggy, it’s what the readers want; even the best-friend thing with Bucky and Iron-Man is cutting it kind of close.

~~What if that’s the problem at the heart of~~ ~~ _Civil-War_~~ ~~?~~  But it’s not, it’s the Spider-Kid, as Pepper was telling me, just the other day.  I need to resolve that, it makes Iron-Man look too inconsistent ~~(and how the hell am I going to manage that one, I’d like to know?)~~.  Only two more books, then I’m out of the goddamn deal.  Obie can whistle for his _Avengers Saga_ after that, who the hell cares?  Just two more, and anybody can do that, I could do it standing on my head.  And then I take my royalties, and I go wherever the hell I want to go, and I write whatever the hell I want write.  Lots of characterization, á la Loki, ~~maybe I’ll even do his interview~~.  No, I won’t do that.

~~He shouldn’t be out on his own.  Loki, I mean.  Because he’s self-destructive; he gets angry, and then he does things, and to hell with the consequences.  He has no common sense, and he flies off the handle.  Like, this morning?~~

To hell with this morning, or any morning, I’m writing about Steve.  At least I understand Steve, which is more than I can say for Loki.   ~~Walking out on me, this morning, even after I told him to come back, it just goes to show you.~~

Where was I?  Steve:  Ticklish challenge of writing a homosexual:  How much do you say?

You remember _Night and Day_?  Biographical picture, Cole Porter, 1946.  My god, that was a horrible movie.  Why?  Lies, of course; Cole Porter was as gay as they come.

~~Me and Steve, watching that picture:  Movie night at the hospital, we’re in there, and we’re sitting next to each other, which was just what we always did.  And I told Steve this story, true story, by the way, and he hated it.  Why was I surprised?  Story that I thought was funny, I said I’d been with the star of the picture, and the guy he was playing, because…  Oh god, why?  What would have possessed me to be so tactless?  And Steve was so game about it, and he acted so polite, which was just how he was.  And after that, it was later on that same week that he and I…  But that would be  telling tales out of school.~~

No man is an island, that’s the problem with writing homosexuals.  Because no one wants to read about the sex, nobody even wants to think about it.  Sex is an important part of a man’s life…  No, not sex.   _Love_.  Sex is just a part of that.  But how can you understand a man without understanding who he loves?  How can you understand Steve Rogers without Tony Stark (or how can you understand me without him)?

Someday I have to go through my files.   _So_ much damaging stuff in there.  Why do I even keep it?  Damned if I know.  Illusory dream-thought, that I’m going to need some of that stuff someday.  Need it for what?  When have I ever even gone through those files, much less used any of it.  That stuff’s dead-wood; it should be discarded, or burned, and yet I hang onto it.  And this?  More dead-wood.  To be filed under “D,” for Dead, in the third folder, or the thirty-third, or whichever damn folder it is that I’m filling up right now, who even cares?  Just dead-wood, all so dead, and the real ideas, the ones that matter, are up in my brain.

More dead-wood.  Let me finish my thought here:  Why did I start writing about Steve?  Because of Loki.  And illusion:  First I was in bed next to him, and I did manage to get some sleep, even though I wasn’t expecting to.   ~~And I wake up, and just for a minute or two~~  Waking up next to someone creates these illusions in your mind, and this feeling of warmth and safety.  And I woke up, and that’s how it was for a minute or two, that’s really how I felt.  Only Loki’s not Steve, and it’s all illusions with him, and no reality.

Steve was a protector.  Loki puts you at-risk.

Annoying Loki, puts himself at-risk too.  Goddammit, that stupid, stupid kid.  Why was he yelling last night?  The Thor-kid is getting married.  Hasn’t that ever happened to him before?  All of us who went before him could say, “Kiddo, your lovers are going to marry women, it is going to happen.”  And we could tell him that they’re still there for you afterward, if there was any kind of a bond.  Jesus, why does he have to act like this whole world’s been made new, just because he’s in it?  This is a cruel, old world, kiddo; that doesn’t change, just because you show up, with your rosy cheeks, and those big, sad green eyes of yours.  Stop acting like it should change, Loki, because it won’t change, it’ll just hurt you.

Loki:  Illusions of a new kind of world, where fairies fight and win their battles.  Versus Steve, who understood the world we live in, and ~~suffered~~ faced it in silence.  Golden silence, just like everything about Steve was always golden.  That’s what Steve was, he was pure gold.  And Loki?  More like fire.  Dangerous.  But mostly to him.

__________________________

_ "That's what's going on  _ _ Cap _ _ , it's just pain, it's discomfort… --  Hey!  Who’s put coffee grounds in the disposal?  Am I running a Bed and Breakfast for a biker gang? -- Oh, that's  _ _ Charlie Spencer _ _  by the way.  He's a great kid. Engineering degree, 3.6 GPA, had a four level gig, an intel plan of the fall.  But first he wanted to put a few miles on his soul before they parked him behind a desk, see the world, maybe be of service.  Charlie didn't want to go to Vegas or Florida, which is what  _ [ _ I _ ](http://marvelcinematicuniverse.wikia.com/wiki/Iron_Man) _ would do.  He didn't go to Paris or Amsterdam, which sounds fun.  He decided to spend his summer building housing for the poor, guess where?   _ _ Sovokia _ _.  He wanted to make a difference I suppose, but we won't know because we dropped a building on him while we were beating up the bad guys.  There is no decision making process here.   _ _ We _ _  need to be  _ _ put in check _ _!  In whatever form that takes I'm game.  If we can't accept limitations, if we are boundaryless, we are no better than the bad guys." _

Charlie Spencer and the Spider-Kid:  The knot of the inconsistency, right there.  I’ll fix it; three shots of bourbon and I can jam anything together and make it sound alright.  This will be no problem at all, it’s just getting started on it, then after that...

__________________________

February 24, 1967

Dear Loki,

You want to pick up some extra cash?  I need a ghost-writer.  Call me.

\-- Stark


	8. A Mutual Agreement Between Two Writers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well she got her daddy's car,  
> And she cruised through the hamburger stand now.  
> Seems she forgot all about the library,  
> Like she told her old man now.  
> And with the radio blasting,  
> Goes cruising just as fast as she can now,  
> And she'll have fun, fun, fun,  
> 'Til her daddy takes the T-bird away.”  
> \-- The Beach Boys, “Fun, Fun, Fun”

He was like, “Ghost-writer?  Me?  Why?”

I was like, “Because I want you.  Now it’s settled?  Now let’s have sex.”  And then we did; it kind of went like that.  Does that make sense?  No.  Not really.  Okay, let’s try again.

I’m not sure why I started this whole thing with Loki, I don’t think I really had a reason.  Or maybe I did, maybe the reason was that I wanted a diversion.  Here’s a picture for you:  You wake up, okay?  Maybe the sun’s shining outside, maybe the air smells like coffee, maybe there’s birdies, tweeting in the trees.

Maybe you wake up and the sun’s not shining, but it feels like it’s shining, and maybe the smell in the air is just any old smell, and all the birdies have flown south for the winter, or whatever the hell it is birds do, do I look like an ornithologist?  Maybe it’s just one of those days when you feel good, and maybe the reason you feel good is…  

Yeah, short version?  He’s not going to make a ghost-writer, I don’t know if I ever thought he was.  Whole thing?  Just an amusement.  Just a way to fill all the extra hours, while I mangle this misshapen monstrosity of a Frankenstein’s-monster story together into whatever kind of shape I can ~~(and ignore my shame at what I’m doing to poor Cap and Iron-Man, who don’t deserve this, much less everything else Obie wants me to do with them)~~.  This was just for fun.  Hell, I deserve some fun, don’t I?  Just like everybody else?  And by that measure, it worked.

Here’s how it really went down:

First of all, he thinks he’s a negotiator.  That smug, scheming way of his, it probably works with the other kids his age, like those _Fairy Queen_ friends of his.  Hippies?  Babies.  And they think they know so much, when they don’t know anything.  But decorative.  Definitely, very decorative.  Green velvet suit, silky shirt with flowers underneath, and the long hair.  And his devious green eyes?  Just for those eyes.  If that was all he had, it would still have all been worth it.

What’s the Yeats line?  Something about “Even God couldn’t love you for yourself, and not for your blond hair?”  Pfft, horrible line.  And such a horrible outlook to take, as if the only reason for valuing another person could be because of their looks.  Wheareas naturally I love everything about Loki, including his so-charming personality and very strong, morally upright character.   **HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA**.  Also, “upright”?   _Poor_ choice of words in this instance.  Evocative, in all the wrong ways.  Reminds me of some of the things that happened this weekend, between me and Loki.

~~He’s coming back again.  Shouldn’t care so much about that, but I do.~~

Where was I?  That’s right, lunch on Friday:  Negotiator-Loki, he thought he was pulling the wool over my eyes, and I let him.  “I’ll do it if you agree to do my interview,” he says…  God, and his green eyes, while he said it?  Eve-green eyes…  No, not Eve, _Serpent_.  He’s looking at me, a serpent-look in those green eyes of his, and he’s like, “Well, I _could_ do it.  You’d have to make it _worth my while_.”

(Joke is, he’ll fail miserably, and I won’t have to pay up.)  So okay, “I’ll do your interview,” I say, “but only if you write me something I can use.”  Which he won’t, of course, and in the meantime?  Beach Boys’ song, fun, fun fun, until Daddy does something-or-other, who knows, who even cares, I always change over to the jazz station halfway through the song.  That’s me though, just fun, fun, fun, until the inevitable time comes that Loki finds out I’m pulling the wool over his eyes, and then…

Why think about then?  Let tomorrow take care of itself, as the preachers say.

Anyway, Loki:  Was it a business suit he was wearing?  Was that what that was supposed to be?  Man in the grey flannel?  Meet kid in green velour.

Man:  “Hello, kid.”

Kid:  “Hi, I am all grown up, you have to take me seriously.”

I’ll take you seriously, Kiddo.  I’ll take you seriously _in bed_.

Anyway though, we went and we had some lunch.  No cheap Marie Callendar’s, with the Moms and the Pops; this time I took him someplace decent.  And lunch, and a bottle of champagne, and then another bottle of champagne.  Floating back to the house afterward on rainbow bubbles, just like something out of Lawrence Welk (only where _are_ the Lovely Lemmon Sisters?), and his arms around me, and my arms around him, and both of us laughing, and he says, “Stark, I see right through you.”

And I say, “Yeah?  Well I see through you too.”  And what did that mean?  Who even knows?  Or who cares?

Whole weekend of drunk-talk, not drinking-drunk, if you understand what I mean, but…   ~~“~~ ~~Love” is such a fatuous word, and it gets you in all sorts of trouble, and “infatuation” is just as bad.~~  Weekend of foolishness, that’s what it was, and lots of laughing, and lots of…  Well, I don’t know if Jarvis will ever forgive me, after what we did in his kitchen.  That he caught us doing, and I’d only told Loki about 100 times, “He comes to work _now_ , he’s going to be here _any minute_ ,” but since when did Loki ever listen to anybody about anything?  Also, there was the pool, and that godawful little Weber Kettle.

Getting him a Weber Kettle (of all the gifts).  And Loki saying to me, “Well, I didn’t ask for it.”

And I’m like, “You might as well have.”

What did he ask for?  Hibachi.  And first he has to go on and on, about, “Well, it’s a _Hollywood house_ , and it has a _pool_ , and just where is the _built-in barbecue_ , which should be here, I’d like to know?”

And I’m like, “Well, there just isn’t one.”

And he looks at me, like, “Why?”

(Steve was living with Peggy.  That’s where he was, when all this build-a-barbecue nonsense was starting, back in the 50’s, and what the hell would have been the point of building a barbecue, when it was just me?)  

Things you don’t need to tell a weekend guest:  See above.  And, where was I?  That’s right:  Hibachi.  One of those really little ones.  So I say to him, “Why this?”

He tells me, “Well, that way I can take it home with me, because it’s so small,” and so naturally I didn’t get it for him.  Got him something bigger; let him _work_ if he wants to break up with Anthony E. Stark…   ~~ _We’re not dating, ye gods, Loki and me?_~~ ~~Pfft, not an issue.  At all.~~  ...Where was I?

Loki with a Weber Kettle in his arms?  Hilarious.  And I was carrying the charcoal.  And then we were back in the kitchen, and we were getting out the steaks.  Jarvis, of course?  Hated that.  He can’t stand other people in his kitchen.  And maybe we left a few things out on the counter after we found the steaks.  Jarvis letting me have it about that, by the way?  Also hilarious.  Nothing like having the riot act read to you in an English accent.  “Sir, you _mustn’t_ ,” and, “Tssk, tssk, my _fish_ ,” and, “My _kidneys_ ,” and so on and so forth.  (I should have made Loki eat the kidneys.  That would have also been hilarious.  Just thinking about his _face_.)

Long, pointless anecdote, going nowhere.  Let me bring it to its point:  First we got the Kettle, then we put it together in the backyard.  I put it together.  Trust Loki to never be there when there’s work to be done.  And where was he?  Lying on one of the chaise-longues wearing sunglasses, and looking like a movie star.  He was decorative, Weber Kettle mostly held together pretty well, most of the time.  So that was a success.  Maybe I’ll get one of those built-in barbecues…  Are people still making those?

Where was I?  Loki on the chaise-longue:  Him, looking at me over those sunglasses… -- Heart-shaped.  Lolita-sunglasses.  Where the _hell_ does a man go, to get Lolita-sunglasses? -- ...And just the picture of him on that chaise-longue, and all the suntan oil all over him, that was there because I put it on him, and he;s looking at me, petted-cat green eyes, over the Lolita-sunglasses, and he’s saying, “Will you hurry _up_?  Could you be any slower about that if you _tried_ , Stark?”  Funny, the things that’ll come back to you.  And, funny the emotions that will come to you when they are coming back.  Never mind.

Short version of this long, very trivial story:  It was supposed to be a writing-weekend, but what would have been the fun of that?  Because I think we both knew the other guy wasn’t going to deliver, but this way we didn’t have to think about it.  Wordless compromise, “Come over and we’ll talk about you being my ghost-writer,” says Stark.

And, “All right, that’s fine,” says Loki, and all the time he’s just knowing that it’s not going to happen, but sometimes…

Carving out the time just to be happy, is that so bad?  And leaving the reality outside?  Reality will come soon enough ~~(only maybe it won’t; one can always hope)~~.


	9. Writing:  Civil War and Beyond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Here I stand, head in hand,  
> Turn my face to the wall.  
> If she's gone I can't go on,  
> Feelin' two-foot small.  
> Everywhere, people stare,  
> Each and every day.  
> I can see them laugh at me,  
> And I hear them say,
> 
> Hey, you've got to hide your love away,  
> Hey, you've got to hide your love away.
> 
> How can I even try?  
> I can never win.  
> Hearing them, seeing them,  
> In the state I'm in,  
> How could she say to me,  
> "Love will find a way?"
> 
> Gather round all you clowns,  
> Let me hear you say,  
> Hey you've got to hide your love away,  
> Hey you've got to hide your love away.”  
> \-- The Beatles, “You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away”

Love story, Cap and Iron-Man:  (This is Loki’s idea, natch.)  Does it make sense?

No.  Already wrote, Cap and Bucky, best friends, going back to childhood.  If I were going to write Cap in a homosexual relationship (which I’m not), wouldn’t it be with him?  Cap disappears (frozen), Bucky gets co-opted by the bad guys, wouldn’t this be the right place to imply long-ago lost love?

Story I heard Gore Vidal tell one time (in that obnoxious, so-Ivy League voice of his), supposedly he wrote a homosexual relationship into _Ben Hur_ , back when he was working for Metro.  Scene at the middle of the movie, eponymous protagonist, and the chariot race with…  I forget the name.  Chariot race with the guy played by Stephen Boyd:  Boyd was in on it too, Vidal said.  Everyone was in on it, except for Charlton Heston, and uggh, oh god, Gore Vidal being sarcastic, in that too-precious way of his.  Charlton Heston was too straight, or too stiff, or…  I forget exactly how he worded it, but the general point of it all was, he wouldn’t have anything to do with the idea, and so everyone else just kept it from him, but what made the movie make sense was that homosexual relationship at the center of it.

Only, that picture?  Ben Hur and Messala were childhood friends.  Like Cap and Bucky.   _Un_ like Cap and Iron-Man, who just became friends during the Battle of New York ( _Avengers_ #1), and since then they’ve spent how long together?  Not long enough to imply anything about them anyway, that’s for sure.

Okay, but the love story.  

Loki, to me.  Sitting in front of the typewriter, with those long fingers of his poised, because naturally, he touch-types, and he says this to me:  “It would make the story make sense.”  (Shades of Gore Vidal.)

I say to him, “Story doesn’t have to make sense.”  It’s genre-fiction, Loki, did you forget that?  Problem with Loki, Gore Vidal, all those college-educated, Ivy League types:  They don’t get it.  Who went to _Ben Hur_ to see the story make sense?  And, with my books?  Same deal.  “Give ‘em car crashes,” I tell Loki, “give ‘em big green monsters, and they’ll be happy.  To hell about if the story makes sense or any of that crap.”

But, at the same time…

The stories used to make sense.  Cap and his best friend, separated on the field of battle.  Cap, waking up into the future, disoriented, angry, learning to adjust.  Iron-Man and his father, for that matter. Iron-Man, fighting the Oedipal battle, over and over again, until finally he has to fight it against himself.  Am I really ready to throw plausibility out the window?  And if not, why not look at the love story?

Loki:  “Well, Cap loves Bucky, that much is obvious...”

Filia:  Love between friends.  Okay Loki, I’ll give you that one.

...Loki, looking up at me.  Typewriter’s in its usual place on the desk by the window, Loki’s sitting there with his fingers curved, all ready to start touch-typing, and he looks up at me, oh-so businesslike expression on his face, and he says, “Cap loves Bucky, and Iron-Man loves Cap.  We have to write it as a love triangle.”  

And I say to him, “We?”

He says, “Okay, you.  But Tony, don’t you see, that’s the only way it all makes sense?”

Does it?  But then why don’t they talk to each other?  Plot-hole, in the middle of the story:  All those things, going through both of their minds, Cap, discovering that the Fifth Columnists have infiltrated the government, and it makes him cynical, Iron-Man, ashamed, after his creation, Ultron, destroys a city, kills civilians.  But if they were lovers, wouldn’t they talk about it all?  Isn’t that what lovers do?

Scene, Iron-Man and Cap…  But I’d have to go back a book or two, wouldn’t I?  Scene:  After the Battle of New York:  Iron-Man went through the wormhole, carrying the H-bomb in his arms, he delivered death to an entire alien race, and he comes back changed, and it would have had to be then.  What did I give him?  Secretary becomes his girlfriend, he buries himself in his work.   _Is that how it would have happened in real life_?

“All those substitutes…” -- Loki again. -- …”Stand-ins,” he called them. Falcon standing in for Iron-Man, and Miss Potts standing in for Cap, but at the center, he says, it’s all one love-story, Iron-Man and Cap.

It’s not.  Because if it were, they would have talked to each other, and if they’d talked to each other…  Well now, I wouldn’t be able to do this book at all if they'd talked to each other, would I?

Cap to Iron-Man:  “He’s my best friend, you have to see I can’t just turn him over to the authorities without talking to him first, don’t you?”

And, Iron-Man to Cap...  How do homosexual couples handle these things?

Iron-Man to Cap:  “Oh, well naturally, you go running off and talk to _your criminal ex-boyfriend_ , god forbid you should listen to me.”

Iron-Man to Cap:  “ _Best friend_ , huh?  Just exactly what happened between you two, anyway?”

Better question:  What happened between you and Cap, Iron-Man.  What were you doing when you should have been talking about your problems together, were you using sex as a shield?

 _Iron-Man would use sex as a shield_.  Iron-Man uses everything as a shield, he always has; it’s practically the definition of the character.

Iron-Man:  Based on me?  One has author-avatars.

Loki, yesterday:  “Well, of course Iron-Man is based on you, and Cap’s…”  Wavery voice on the word “Cap,” like he’s uncomfortable.  Was he uncomfortable?  Is my sharp little Ivy-League hippie-boy developing feelings?  (Do I want him to develop feelings?)  “...Cap’s based on your old boyfriend,” he says, “because that’s how you do it, Tony, you always write from life.”  And he goes into this long riff about how I should build a character based on him, a trickster-character.

I say to him, “I thought you didn’t want me to write genre-fiction.”

He says to me, “Write the fun parts.  Then you can get a ghost-writer in to write the boring stories, later on in the series after it stops being good.”

And I say, “Is that what you are, Loki?”

He says, “Maybe.”

Puzzles upon puzzles:  Which one to think about first?  Puzzle number one is how to get goddamned _Civil War_ to work, and that’s the easy one.  Have to disconnect Loki from his serious-writer brain, get him to understand it’s a pot-boiler, and treat it accordingly.  More interesting to work on the Loki-puzzle:  Just who is he, is he the serious-writer he claims to be, or is that just a pretense, a trickster-pose, and if so, what does it hide?

His writing, by the way?  Passable.  Mannered as hell, but I mean, he’s a college boy, what do you expect.  Gore Vidal?  Same thing.  I read _City and the Pillar_ , and let me tell you, he should have let that one die.  Just for the pose, and the pretentiousness, and he hasn’t changed over the years (unfortunately).  Take _Myra Breckinridge_ …  No, don’t take it.  You’ll be sorry.  Just let it wash on by, and then get buried in well-deserved obscurity

...Where was I?  Loki.  As a writer:  He’s not bad, or he won’t be after he gets the pretentiousness under control.  He can write dialogue.

Scene, Iron-Man with the Spider-kid (Loki wrote it): _"You have a passport?” he asked him.  “You ever been to Germany?”_

_"No,” the boy replied._

_"Oh you're gonna love it there."_

_Quick protest, "I can't go to Germany!"_

_The older man looked at him.  "Why not?"_

_"Because I have…”  Peter swallowed.  “I have homework."_

_Iron-Man blinked.  "I'm gonna pretend you didn't just say that."_

Not Shakespeare, maybe, but it works, it’ll do.  

Dirty little secret, I didn’t know he’d written that part, until he told me.  Long, marathon night, spent working, coffee, alternating with whiskey, and sometimes whiskey in the coffee, and a little bit of benzedrine on top of that, just to keep our energy up.  Several scenes, hammered out, similar to that one, not Shakespeare, maybe, but they’ll do.  Then I read over ‘em the next morning, knew Loki was up to the job when I couldn’t tell his scenes from mine (or maybe we wrote all of them together?).  I will have this book ready by the deadline, and Pepper will love me, and Obie will get the hell off of my back for a while, and it’s all thanks to my little green-eyed ghost-writer Trickster-boy.

And then what happens after this one?  We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

Me (to Loki, yesterday):  “Puerto Vallarta,” I said to him.  “Acapulco, maybe, or what about Baja?”

But he wanted to talk about writing, and he kept going back to it.  His interview?  He’s now calling a profile, and he wants me to write it.  

I told him I’d do the damn interview.  He said to me, “And it’ll tell the truth?   _All_ of the truth?”

Conversation with him about why it can’t tell “ _all_ of the truth,” long explanation about how Steve Rogers was a real hero, and we can’t defame his memory.  Loki looking at me, angry expression:  “Why does being homosexual have to be such a defamation?”   _Oh, Loki, I didn’t make those rules_.

And he says to me, “That’s why _you_ have to write it, Tony, people have to know what love between two men is really like.”  Easier to just do the Ben Hur/Messala thing, with _Civil War_ (and maybe it would fix a few of the plot-holes).

I said to him, “I promise you, Loki, my next novel will be a homosexual love story, that no one will want to buy.”

And he got mad, like kids do.  “Oh, Tony, you’re such a coward,” etcetera.  And, where does that all leave us?  I really don’t know.  No promise from him yet, about keeping “ _all_ of the truth” out of the profile, but I think it’s coming.

Funny joke though:  “You said Buck Barnes is gay?” Loki says.  “Let’s leak it, just about him, or what about that publisher you hate, Obie?”

Story hits the news about Obie Stane being a homosexual?  You’ll know where it comes from.  Especially if the first place it runs is in _The Fairy Queen_.


	10. Notice:  This story is officially abandoned.

I was going to delete it, and I may still, if I can ever manage to write the deep-down idea that I was trying to write here. For now though? Please don't expect more chapters, this story is officially abandoned.


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